


Midwife of Empire

by Tel



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Barrayar, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tel/pseuds/Tel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alys comes into her own in the aftermath of Vordarian's Pretendership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midwife of Empire

It was bad luck to be a widow at a wedding, as Alys Vorpatril well knew. But she wasn't the only one in gray this season, and the first true social event at the Residence since the Pretender needed to be done properly. A poorly done ceremony would be worse luck for the future than a score of widows, and the order of things, so swiftly upended, needed to be restored. Still, the party was best left to the brave young men and the putative virgins.

As she passed the threshold and nodded farewell to her brother-in-law, she noticed her departure had been taken as a sign. Other widows were disengaging from the party, taking leave of their male and female companions. Some were more reluctant to go than others, she noted, and her lips parted - they'd been watching her? Waiting for her decision on when the widows should leave? Alys would have watched the Princess, two months back, but Kareen was dead, and one could hardly take cues from Lady Vorkosigan. When had she, twenty-three years old, become the first lady of the dance?

A sideways glance and her servant was at her heels, bearing her long black coat. She donned it as armor against the chill hallway drafts and started down the hall to the nursery wing. As a favor from Cordelia, the Residence staff were watching Ivan for the day, helping Alys's state of mind and allowing her own servants the day off. Young Marie had said that she would handle Ivan's late evening feeding, but Alys still felt she should supervise - he did fuss so if his mother wasn't there.

"A well-done piece of theater," Uncle Piotr said in her ear. She spun, startled, and he gave her a small wink. Count Vortala ambled up behind him, giving her a sharp-eyed look.

"Count Vorkosigan, Prime Minister Vortala." She gave the two of them a small curtsey, somewhat bemused. "A pleasure as always."

"Don't give me that, girl," her grandfather grumbled. "Come along. We need to talk."

"I'm afraid I have to see to Ivan," she said automatically in deflection, then mentally winced. The Prime Minister wasn't some unwanted suitor, and as much as she wanted to check on Marie she felt unfilial as well as inhospitable. While he had more grandchildren than he knew what to do with and she'd rarely caught his notice in the past, he'd never done anything to deserve this from her. "Perhaps thirty minutes from now, in the Guest Parlor?"

Vortala didn't blink. "That will be fine, dear."

Alys was startled. She'd expected a scolding. "I'll see you then." She nodded farewell to Uncle Piotr and escaped up the stairs to the nursery.

Marie hadn't slipped off to join the servants' party below stairs, but Alys could tell she'd been wistfully thinking about it. Still, the maidservant did her duty well enough, cooing at baby Ivan as she fed him from the bottle. Young, professional, francophone - she'd been in service with the Vortala household since fourteen and at the Residence nursery for the past three years. Alys sometimes vaguely regretted not continuing with nursing, but it simply wasn't done in a woman of her class. Milk stains and formal mourning garb did not get on.

Ivan blinked at her, then wailed as Marie ducked out to get a washcloth. Alone for the moment with him, Alys bent down to kiss him on the forehead. He reached out and tried to grab her hair, failing, then started crying again as some men thumped past in the hallway. Vorbarra armsmen, Captain Illyan, and... Gregor? Wasn't it past his bedtime? "Shhh..." she crooned at Ivan.

"Gregor!" the Emperor's nurse hissed. The Emperor had stopped in the doorway and was looking at her now, and at her still-complaining son.

"Hello, Sire," she said. "This is my son Ivan."

Gregor frowned. "This is _my_ room."

"He's a baby," Alys said. "This is a room for babies and toddlers. You're bigger, now, so you get your own room."

"Oh." Gregor seemed to process this. "But it's my room. It's got my things."

"It's a room for little children to be safe in, so they can focus on growing up. When you're little, you can't do much else and other people have to keep you safe, just like part of Emperor Ezar's duty was to keep you safe. Now that you're bigger, it's your duty to grow up to be the Emperor, so you can take over from Lord Vorkosigan and keep everyone safe. When Ivan's bigger, he'll be a Vor lord, and you'll be in charge of him. But right now he's littler than you, so he needs somewhere to nap."

Gregor looked intimidated. Alys supposed he'd never had to be Emperor to anyone younger than him before. "Are there lots of babies?" he asked.

Alys nodded.

He seemed very alarmed. "Are they all going to live here?"

"No, they live in their own houses. Ivan lives with me. But Lady Vorkosigan is going to have a baby, and he'll live here."

Gregor swallowed, nodded, and looked at her baby again. "Will Ivan be my friend?"

"Maybe when he's older. He's too little to have friends yet, Gregor."

"Oh." Gregor frowned at the baby and then scurried over to a box of toys. A female servant made as if to grab him, but Captain Illyan put a hand on her arm. Lifting the lid, his face went blank for a moment and then he pulled out a large stegosaurus. Hefting it, he walked back over to her and Ivan in his chair and pushed the stegosaurus up towards him.

Alys smiled gently. "That's a big kid toy, Gregor."

"It is?" He looked suddenly relieved.

"See? It's bigger than he is." She took it from him and then gave it back. "It's bedtime for Ivan, and bedtime for you, I think. Why don't you go put that away in your room?"

"Thank you, Lady Vorpatril!" he called back as he was herded away, still clinging fiercely to the toy. She turned her attention back to Ivan, who was fussing at her. But...

"Drat, the time!" She was late, or nearly. Giving Ivan another quick kiss, she left him to Marie and stepped out, buttoning her coat as she hurried down the cold hallway. The heating system still wasn't completely repaired, and while the living quarters were warm much of the rest of the Residence resembled an icehouse.

She streamed into the parlor barely a minute late, greeting Vortala as he rose to bend over her hand and repeat the appropriate formal condolences on the death of her husband. Surprisingly, Vorkosigan was there as well, watching her over a wineglass. The Progressive head of government and the Regent's Conservative father weren't usual drinking partners, but Vortala had a snifter of brandy on a side table as well. Between the two of them, they seemed to have chased off all other wandering revelers.

Count Vorkosigan spent much of his time at his country estate and his disdain for the Vorbarr Sultana social scene was legendary. He'd been a sought-out match, as a new widower, but had hardly shown an interest in the thirty years since. Some said he had a hill-wife in the mountains, and a swarm of fearsome daughters. Still, no one doubted his influence at court. He didn't come to men, men came to him. Yet now, he'd come to her. What did that mean?

"Thank you, dear, for making time for us," Vortala smiled. "A wedding was just the thing after the executions. It's been a grim few months, and it's nice to see a little color." He was in his house uniform for the occasion, instead of the house blacks he'd been wearing since the war. "Though, did Lady Vorkosigan really say you looked good in gray?"

Alys winced. "Yes." Cordelia was so brutally ignorant, sometimes. She could at least make an _effort_.

A thoughtful silence. Vortala seemed to be weighing words in his mouth.

"Back in my day," Uncle Piotr observed, "we let the widows come out of mourning when they killed their first Ceta. Only fair."

"Yes, well, ghem-lords are scarcer of late." Vortala said. "The flower of Vor womenhood rightly seeks more domestic pursuits now. There's nothing shameful about grief, Vorkosigan, and peace to grieve in."

Alys dropped her gaze demurely. As if there was any peace in a house with a newborn.

"I never said that it was shameful." Count Vorkisigan bared his teeth in a humorless grin. "Too many forget what it means to be Vor. I doubt my new daughter will ever learn."

"Cordelia's as brave as any Vor," Alys objected. "Braver."

Vortala pursed his lips. "We must expect more of our women than mere bravery. If they do not raise the next generation to be Vor, who will?" He took a sip. "My granddaughter Kareen is dead. Her mother as well."

"I never knew her very well," Alys said regretfully. Her cousin the Princess had been very isolated until the death of her husband, and even afterward had few friends.

Uncle Piotr leaned forward, his voice suddenly very intense. "You are there for your son, Alys. Who will be there for the Emperor, to show him our ways and continue our traditions? Who will teach him what to look for in a Vor wife? Who will be there for my son's children, when they grow up? There are no Vorbarra women, not anymore."

"If we have to change with the times, we need to do it gracefully," Vortala said. "We can't leave it to the Regent-Consort to maintain the social order or in a few years we won't have one left. I've been to Beta Colony. There's no _civilization_. We need a Kareen."

He looked at her and she suddenly caught his meaning. "I'm no princess," she said, shocked.

Piotr snorted. "And my son's no politician. We're Vor. We become what we need to be."

**Author's Note:**

> written by Tel for Glishara


End file.
